


The Dance of Wolves

by Roughnight



Series: The Prince and the Pauper [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mycroft, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega John, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:10:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roughnight/pseuds/Roughnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>It shouldn't be that difficult-- flat sharing with an unbonded alpha who promised to deduce all of his secrets, establishing a new life in an unfamiliar City, suffering  the ache that normally comes with the Full Moon, keeping a low profile while living with a very noticeable Consulting Detective and ignoring how the omega in him actually writhes inside from being shackled for a very long time... </p><p>John Watson could do them.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wolf Who Sent His Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> .
> 
> Hi guys. Took a long absence from writing because of other worldly nuisances. Been really busy with...things. This work is still unbeta'd so I send my apologies for the mistakes in advance. I sincerely appreciate your comments and suggestions. 
> 
> .

 

 

~*~

 

Sherlock decided that there are two scents he hated in the whole world at this very moment _: the offensive smell of his brother and the cheap smell of the floral perfume that John, for some reason has insisted on using_. At the conclusion of their fateful night with the serial murderer, the cab driver Jefferson Hope, he had smelled it then. The masculine earthly human scent of John was tainted with the floral perfume sprayed graciously on his jumper and with the feminine hand wash the omega had used to scrub the gunpowder residue from his hands. As if they weren’t torture enough, he had to smell the acrid whiff of his brother from the jumper that John wore. Mycroft had touched the piece of clothing before it was handed over to John, no doubt. It was a provocation. A silly prank no different from the other ones they volleyed against each other…except this time was different and Sherlock found it sacrilegious and unforgivable.

 

_It’s your fault for leaving him alone. MH_

_Back off. SH_

That he was easily annoyed was another thing that Sherlock discovered. It was bothersome.

 

 Even with his sheer force of will to resist the pull of gravity, he supposed the strong tug of the Full Moon was something even he could not neglect. While he proudly hasn’t gone feral in his whole life, he could now feel something close to it overflow from its jar, drip into his blood and finally creep on the surface of his skin. He’s now constantly on the brink of the extremes of his emotion. He wondered how John could withstand it—it must’ve been painful, seeing the round perfection of the Moon, hearing its call and having your bones ache from the shifting they anticipated to take part in only to find that they weren’t allowed to do so. The doctor has been taking his pills since he was young. The question remained whether or not John allowed himself brief period of times without them, a break from the cycle, a chance to let the wolf in him come out. It niggled at the back of Sherlock’s mind. He wanted to know. John would’ve experienced heat every time the chemical inhibiting his nature was expelled from his blood stream.

 

He was pulled from his musing when the omega in question strode into the living room. John came from the laboratory/kitchen carrying a tray full of biscuits and cups of tea.

 

Sherlock blamed it on the Full Moon, too, for what he did next. His hand shot out from its position under his knees and grabbed the omega’s wrist just as the latter was pulling his hand back from setting the tray on the coffee table. As always, the ex-army doctor stilled upon the contact but stopped himself from executing defensive reflexes, which Sherlock was always glad for. He didn’t want to bother countering unnecessary assaults. He leaned down even as he lifted the doctor’s wrist to his nose and breathed in deeply, making sure that the delicate skin of the omega’s skin felt the shift of air around it. The pulse beneath his fingertips quickened, the doctor’s breathing becoming ragged and shallow along with it. Sherlock smiled at that, his lower lips brushing faintly and fleetingly on the other man’s skin, as if by accident. John’s breathing hitched above him. Dr. John Watson could repress his smell and the wolf in him and hide them from the others around him but he was an omega through and through—and a remarkable one at that. It was there inside him, definitely; hidden the wolf maybe, there was no question that it responds to the alpha in close proximity with it.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock took another languid sniff, dragging the tip of his nose against the softness of the man’s forearm, finding himself infuriated by the insulting floral scent yet reveling at the faint masculine smell that John couldn’t really hide. He allowed himself a guttural purr.

 

“I would remind you that I have a loaded tranquilizer gun tucked at my back I could use on you…” John said softly, determinedly even when his breathing faltered a bit and even when his heartbeat sounded like that of a hummingbird’s.

 

Sherlock knew, of course. Didn’t even mind it one bit. Dosing the omega with brief periods of unthreatening physical contacts would help with John’s paranoia considering the situation the latter still hasn’t resolved and considering he’s presently shacking up with an unbonded alpha. The latter could be disregarded, though, for there wasn’t really an issue with it. The younger Holmes wasn’t a slave to his biology—a bit of a slave to the moon, perhaps, but never wholly to his biology. It also sat well with Sherlock that the omega has a means to protect himself if the situation called for it. His omega was pretty capable. _Ah, there it was again_. One of the extremes the call of the Full Moon places on him. He was becoming irrationally possessive.

 

“I hate it,” Sherlock snapped as he looked up and held John’s face.

 

The omega frowned at him with tinted cheeks—from their close proximity or from annoyance, maybe both.

 

“The foul smell of the hand soap you bought, John,” Sherlock explained as if pained, “Why couldn’t you just use the old one?”

 

“You didn’t have an old one! You didn’t have anything!” John replied indignantly. “And it’s _floral_.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Floral_. As if it explained everything. “Yes, John, and I find it foul. Throw it.”

 

John bristled and tried to withdraw his hand free from the alpha’s grip. Sherlock held tighter. John glared at him. “I’m not throwing it.”

 

“Throw the jumper, too. The one Mycroft gave. It stinks.”

 

“It’s been washed already.”

 

“I will tell you that Mycroft’s taint can’t be washed off. And he’s a manipulative bastard. He’d use it on you.”

 

John’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t decide if he should find what the alpha just said as incredulous or amusing.

 

“He would use the _jumper_ on me?”

 

Sherlock frowned, dissatisfied. He didn’t like the twitch at the corner of John’s lips. “Yes, John, it’s not funny and you don’t have to repeat everything I say. Mycroft would use the jumper as bribery on you.”

 

It caught Sherlock off guard when the omega’s lips stretched into a full silly grin. His blue eyes caught the light that pooled from the window and his face pleasantly brightened. “That has got to be one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard.” John said merrily, with a small laughter in his voice.

 

Not really sure how to react, Sherlock sniffed disdainfully as a response before letting his own hand drop to his side and freeing the omega’s wrist in the process. John flicked an amused glance at him bemusedly before he promptly sat on the chair opposite from the alpha, the one nearer the fireplace. Sherlock followed the omega’s example and took the cup of tea with his hands. They didn’t speak after that but the silence wasn’t really oppressive in nature. Sherlock thought it may have been attributed to the soothing effect of the tea that was brewed very finely. He was correct then, in his deduction that the doctor has a very strong fondness of tea. It was, after all, the one scent that lingered unusually on the omega’s person when the latter could be expected to have been prancing around in woods and mud and dirt during his escape.

 

“I found the fake documents and ID’s on my bed,” John said lightly as he nibbled on a biscuit. “It was very thorough. I’d have asked where they came from but I’m just really grateful.”

 

Sherlock recognized the dipping of the doctor’s blonde brows as a reflection of the latter’s contemplation and uncertainty. He regarded John as he quietly sipped his tea. He rather thought that a response wasn’t expected from him at this point.

 

“You weren’t kidding…”

 

“I have to tell you that I do occasionally lie,” Sherlock drawled, “if I have to… but at no point during our earlier encounter did I find the need to. We had an agreement.”

 

“The fake documents…”

 

“Comes with the job,” Sherlock answered patiently if not a bit pointedly. “I do have a lot of fake ones myself. I have my resources and you don’t need to be bothered by it.”

 

John just stared at him for a heartbeat before giving a small, stiff nod. The omega was resolved to trust him at this point. The brave, resolute and practical omega. Something warm and thick swelled in Sherlock’s chest. It made him think of the ashen clouds sprouted onto the sky by active volcanoes.

 

“So…,” John coughed lightly in an attempt to ease the mood, “John Williams, is it?”

 

Sherlock shrugged. “Convenient. Easily remembered.”

 

“Indeed.” John agreed. “I’d have to look for a job then, I suppose.”

 

Sherlock bristled. This topic of their conversation, he wasn’t expecting. “What for?”

 

John looked at him as if he was the one who wasn’t making any sense. “The rent?”

 

It was something Sherlock shouldn’t have forgotten. It was the normal thing to do, after all. The omega wasn’t a kept man. How he have pushed aside the thought that John would try to build a life in the City he didn’t know. It must be because of the drawing of the Full Moon. He could feel his instincts nearly overpowering his mind—the shadows slowly creeping and being cast on every surface of his Mind Palace. He was getting shackled and freed at the same time. Yes, it was the Full Moon, he decided, as to why he was reacting violently at the mere thought of picturing John Watson mingling and establishing contact with other people-of getting out of the nest on his own. It was a normal reaction to the occasion of the day.

 

“Delay it.” Sherlock suggested. “Full Moon’s tonight in case you’ve forgotten. People are bound to be antsy and preoccupied.”

 

“I wasn’t planning to apply in establishments with weres,” John explained. “I wouldn’t risk it.”

 

“Postpone it anyway.”

 

John narrowed his eyes at him. “Why?”

 

“Run with me tonight.”

 

 


	2. The Wolf Who Finds Himself Riding the Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> The Queen draws near and her children respond dutifully. John finds himself carefully treading unfamiliar water. Again. It’s not like riding a bicycle at all. And his senses may be a bit messed up.  
> .

 

~*~*~

 

_/“Run with me tonight.”/_

It came as a surprise to John. He was not entirely alone in this line of thought, though, because Sherlock seemed as if he himself didn’t expect the words to come from his mouth, for the very thought to even exist. Now, John didn’t  really assume that he knew the Consulting Detective that well but he has spent a good amount of time in war—among enemy territories—and spent the past three months of his life carefully dodging people—for him to have garnered enough deductive abilities to make sense of people’s expressions. The signs have been so brief and subtle and John doubted he would have recognized them if he wasn’t already staring at the alpha. Their conversation was unexpectedly pleasant, after all, and the tea did not leave a sour taste in his mouth the way it would have had he spent it with a disagreeable companion. There was ease and a most welcome atmosphere in their unexpected domesticity.  That was why he was so relaxed that he allowed himself the lull of simply appreciating an evening time for tea.

 

_/“Run with me tonight.”/_

There was the briefest flicker of surprise, the minutest widening in those deep, pale eyes, and the stretching and folding of skin around the raven brows. If it was possible at all, John would dare to say that the alpha’s face turned paler but maybe it was just the afternoon light playing tricks on him. The impression of being surprised etched on the Consulting Detective’s sculptured face, however, was short lived by the man’s aptitude in schooling his features. John already saw it, nonetheless, and it was enough; but while the ex-army doctor wished he could allow himself to dwell on it—he reckoned it would do him good if he concentrated first on not looking like a fish out of water popping its mouth open and close dumbly.

 

His own reaction to Sherlock’s invitation wasn’t comical at all. He didn’t sputter in an undignified manner nor did he drop the cup of tea he was holding. His heart didn’t gallop either—the way it traitorously did in the presence of this most peculiar alpha. No. There was just the ringing silence that suddenly deafened his ears and the unearthly chill that prickled his skin. He felt a little dizzy. He still felt out of loop but he felt more detached this time around—as if there was a time portal and he was watching  the scene in 221 B’s living room from another set of eyes.  Not for the first time, he wished there was some sort of handbook in dealing with Sherlock Holmes.

 

John’s first impulse was to blurt out how he couldn’t possibly respond to the Moon’s Call and therefore would not be able to undergo the transformation to his wolf form but he quickly reined it in. The Consulting Detective was already aware of his condition from the get go and the chance of the alpha forgetting such detail was as large as the chance of John changing to his four legged form during this particular lunar phase.

 

John spent most of his adult life living as a mere human. He may have lived his army life among the presence of the wolves but it wasn’t to say that he knew a great deal about how wolves normally interacted with one another. He has been isolated for a very long time—being neither wholly a man nor a wolf. He wasn’t even sure anymore if the wolf inside him has gone docile or wild during the long time of his detachment from it… when he did not entertain it… But the ex-army doctor was pretty sure there ought to be some sort of etiquette surrounding the nature of _running_ …

 

In the past, when he was just a pup living within the walls of Scowall, he only ever ran with other wolves for two reasons—when he was savoring the glorious feeling of riding the wind with his _Pack_ on his heels and when he was either hunting or getting hunted by young cubs of different Packs his older sister somehow pissed off. He mostly only ever ran with Harry and with some family members. There was a vague memory of accepting a challenge with a strange young wolf and participating in a private race but it was also the last Full Moon he ever got to spend. He started taking the suppressant pills after that.

 

Nevertheless, even when he spent most of his Full Moons resisting the Call more than responding to the excruciating drive to let the wolf come out, John, at the very least, knew that spending the night of the Full Moon with other wolves was a _private affair_. It could not be anything less with the territoriality and thirst for flesh of the beasts rising at its pinnacle. The insurmountable ache in undergoing the transformation and the sudden rush of adrenaline that comes along with it were overwhelming in nature they simply sapped any semblance of human control. The resulting excitability was something colossal, raw and unfiltered for the mind to make sense of during the early phase. It was the time for the instinct to take over. Wolves needed the sense of safety and kinship around each other to overwhelm the mad desire to tear. They are insanely possessive and protective and vicious and territorial around each other. So yes, spending the Full Moon with someone else was a dreadfully private affair and inviting someone to take a run with you more so. They were barely a Pack after all—the doctor could not even consider them acquaintances.

 

The omega didn’t really know what the alpha in front of him was thinking but he already knew that the detective lived his life in a scale so different from anyone John ever knew. There should be some sort of leeway in this dilemma.

 

John supposed that something was equally wrong with him, too. Sherlock may have been the one who took in a runaway stranger who admittedly have powerful enemies after his tail but John was the omega on the run who chose to take his chances and live with an unbonded alpha under one roof. Sherlock may have been the alpha who offered to share his run to a defective wolf but John was the omega who found himself amicable towards the proposition. Biting the inside of his cheek, John allowed himself a second to evaluate his own reaction towards the alpha’s invitation. All he could hear was the steady beat of his own heart inside his chest and all he could feel was the electric thrill that run down his skin. He looked straight at the silver orbs that were levelly taking him in and John wondered how Sherlock was seeing him right now and what great leaps he was already making. John fervently wished the warming of his face did not already betray his answer the way the dilatation of the alpha’s pupils betrayed the latter’s anticipation.

 

_/“Run with me tonight.”/_

 

 _‘Perhaps Shelock’s been lulled into safety, too_ ,’ John thinks. He killed for the alpha, after all

 

“Of course,” John answered as if it was the most natural thing to do and the rush of warmth that eradicated the chill of his skin was reveling. As if it was the key to his momentary stupor, the muffled sounds of the life outside their flat slid back in and the loophole was once again straightened, the time portal terminated.

 

“Terrific,” Sherlock answered casually, as if he had not expected anything else, and proceeded with his tea.

 

John did not know what to expect. What would running with a wolf under the grace of the Full Moon possibly entail when he was limited to his human flesh? But if there was one thing that John Watson was good at, it was thriving heads on with the unknown. Whereas the wolf in him could never truly hunt the way it was designed to do, could never fully be the predator it was born to live for and could never savor the ripping of flesh between his teeth as long as he was taking the damn pills—John Watson could at least do something about the insatiable thirst and the grating need to plunge into danger. Imprisoned in a man’s flesh his wolf may be, he wasn’t a prey.

 

The omega already spent so much of his time hiding and running.

 

~*~*~

 

He clenched his fists at his sides while he was being introduced to the whole of Scotland Yard as Sherlock Holme’s flat mate. He was already informed of the Consulting Detective’s involvement with the police force but what he had not expected at all was the alpha’s sheer audacity to haul him over a yellow tape and present him to everyone who could have the incentive to put him behind bars. While John did meet some of them already from his involvement in saving the omega child and her brother Raz  from the smuggling ring, he reckoned that things have changed. John had been treated as just a nameless homeless bloke back then. Things were drastically different now. He was, after all, officially sporting some faked documents and identification tag. It would take one curious member of the City’s finest to blow his cover. His stay in the country wasn’t really legal and dilly dallying with the people of Scotland Yard is exactly easy for him to get used to. He was terrific hiding by himself. He was bloody amazing with subterfuge and escaping people’s radar. This was different. This was him garnering attention unnecessarily. John couldn’t help darting his eyes and scanning for nearby dark alleyways. There were more than a dozen of the Scotland Yarders and seven of them were wolves. None recognized him except for the guy Sherlock called Lestrade and the brunette named Donovan but he couldn’t brush off the interest their eyes conveyed towards him.

 

 _“John,”_ Sherlock hissed under his breath. “You’re fretting.”

 

With a non-chalant rolling of his shoulder, John schooled his face as best as he could. “You could’ve warned me I’d be meeting everyone I had every reason to hide myself from.”

 

“Don’t be stupid. Without your hideous cloak, there’s nothing to give yourself away. This is hardly your first encounter with them. Get used to it.” The alpha delivered his answer in the same monotone voice, the words silky and rapid as if he just really couldn’t care less. Then, as if to add it as a last second joke, Sherlock added, “You look like a fine citizen of the City.”

 

“Says you,” John huffed.

 

“That’s a given.” Sherlock agreed—his deep voice thick with amusement as he spared John a glance. “But we already established that I’m a genius. _And stop doing that thing with your hands_!” The alpha suddenly admonished rather harshly. His face contorted when his silver eyes swept over John’s form and settled on the latter’s clenched fists. The change was instantaneous. “You’re being stupid. I swear if you bolt away I’m going to run after you like a rabid wolf and drag your ass back with my teeth.”

 

John belatedly realized that he was fisting his hands on his sides. What dragged him back to his senses, however, was the unusual guttural growl that came from Sherlock’s mouth. He looked up to see that the alpha was staring at him with intense predatory eyes. His eyes seemed hooded and his mouth was drawn into a straight line, as if resisting the urge to bare his fangs. Strangely, John understood. He really, really shouldn’t but he did. It was the Full Moon talking here. Sherlock seemed tensed, as if he himself could spring at a moment’s notice. The alpha may have sensed John’s distress and strong impulse to bolt and had he done so, the wolf in the Consulting detective would’ve gleefully given chase. Sherlock was sporting for a bloody hunt.

 

Great.

 

“Bet I could outrun you,” John muttered under his breath.

 

“Not with two legs you won’t.” Sherlock answered with a strange gleam in his eyes. “Now stop thinking when it’s beyond you and just follow my lead.”

 

“But they’re…” It was difficult to brush off the number of eyes trained on him and his dealings with the tall, lanky detective.

 

“You’re the new guy, what else is there for them to look at? They’re dull.” The alpha waved his hand as if to dismiss the topic and proceeded forward towards the house.

 

“The crime scene?” John suggested bitterly but if Sherlock heard it, he certainly didn’t give any indication.

 

The Consulting Detective was already inside the establishment by the time John reached the front steps. He tensed when a hand gripped his arm. He yanked his limb free reflexively even as he back pedaled with the balls of his feet. He raked his nails at the air even as he resisted the impulse to snarl and take the tranquilizer gun tucked on his back to aim it at the tosser.

 

The woman called Sergeant Sally Donovan was looking at him with widened eyes and open mouth, her hand that she used to grab at the omega hanging in the air between them.

 

“You needed something, Sergeant?” John asked with a strained voice, almost choking at the brush of anger that swelled inside his gut. He didn’t like being touched without his consent. Not at all. He didn’t like someone getting behind him either. Whereas all he wanted was to lash out and tell the police officer off from getting too familiar, the rational part in him knew that the beta sergeant had every right to demand from John where the latter didn’t have a valid pass to be where he was except from the dubious invitation of a certain Consulting Detective.

 

“You’re the man who got shot,” Donovan started after getting over her initial surprise from the doctor’s reaction. “From the other night with the omega smuggling ring case…”

 

“Got grazed, not shot. And it’s John,” Then as if in an afterthought, added, “Williams.”

 

“Well, John,” Donovan said as she tipped her head to the side and crossed her arms on her chest, “You have no right to be here.” She seemed to relish delivering the statement. Her eyes definitely gleamed as they stared suspiciously at the omega.

 

“I’m with Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“I know,” she acknowledged with a disdainful sniff. “Didn’t know he’d bother with a man when he wouldn’t bother with any wolf at all…”

 

“Do you mind?” John asked because he was already feeling sore with the beta female who acted as if she had every right to command him. “This is hardly the first crime scene Sherlock invited me to.”

 

“And I hope this would be the last if you know what’s good for you. What are you doing prancing around the City with a _were_ during the eve of the Full Moon, anyway?”

 

“I really think it’s hardly your business.”

 

“I thought I should warn you.” Donovan stated defiantly.

 

John sighed irritably. Damn weres sporting for a fight and getting all aggressive during this particular day…but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t affected at all. He understood. He was feeling goddamn temperamental himself. He could feel his own throat quivering from the irresistible impulse to growl. He pushed it all back into the cage where his wolf was currently digging its claws against the constraining walls. He reined all the animalistic impulses with a deep breathed of the evening’s air.

 

Even the bloody air is thick with unexpended adrenaline and testosterone.

 

Great.

 

“Duly noted,” he answered the beta sergeant calmly, “but I’ll ask for it when I need it.”

 

With it he turned his back from the beta and entered the threshold. He didn’t fancy turning his back against a wolf, beta she may be, especially when said wolf has just offended him—but he hadn’t a choice in the matter. Delaying the business any further was bound to catch a certain Consulting Detective’s attention and with the alpha’s already foul mood and with the influence of the Full Moon adding to the mix, John rather thought he wouldn’t like what kind of scenario would occur.

 

The sun was still present on his throne but the sky was already noticeably dimmer. The Queen’s coming is near.

 

He was right to have entertained Donovan’s attempt at conversation no longer. Sherlock Holmes was already walking back down the flight of stairs and looking straight at the door at him.

 

“Took you a while,” he drawled sharply even as he looked at John suspiciously. The alpha’s eyes narrowed at the arm Donovan just grabbed and he sniffed disdainfully. John sighed, suffering, and brushed a hand over his face. He didn’t think this was what he’d signed up for when he decided to take the Consulting Detective’s offer. With the tang of blood and murder floating in the air like some kind of miasma in this crime scene, Sherlock Holmes still managed to pick up the scent evidence of another wolf on John and seemed to concern himself with it.

 

That was ridiculous but that was perhaps perpetrated by the coming of the Full Moon.

 

After all, even amongst the jumbled scent of several agitated wolves, dead bodies and blood, this particular alpha’s smell still remained strikingly as clear as meth to John; As ifthe other scents wafted near but slid pass the omega’s olfactory memory and only Sherlock Holmes’ scent drifted closer. Powerfully.

 

 

 

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
>  Know how my tenses and word plays have lots of mistakes. Sorry for those. Am really working on them. Am also working real hard trying to find beta. Thanks for your patience and comments^^.  
> .


	3. It's a Wolf Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> The wolf had a graceful stillness about him but John could feel the minute movements brought about by the pounding of the beast’s heart inside those broad ribs.  
> .

~*~*~

 

The whole afternoon passed by in a blur with Sherlock Holmes spending most of the time firing his deductions at Lestrade. Admittedly, no conclusion has yet been made but that did not in any way lessen the brilliance of the alpha’s mind. It was a captivating sight to behold—the mad genius in his elements—and John, for the life of him, couldn’t help but be drawn. Right after he was done, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and dragged him back to the flat without a word. The brief walk outside the crime scene and the cab ride were barely noticed by John. With the relentless pace that Sherlock went about in the task of getting back to 221 B Baker Street, the omega barely even had time to breathe. He felt as if he was submerged in a suspended animation. Everything just went crazy yet unnoticeable outside of them and John found himself riding the waves without a worry, his blue eyes latched on his wrist where the alpha held him. And while Sherlock certainly did not ask for permission to touch him, John had not minded. He definitely had not taken it personally. Under normal circumstances, he would have retaliated and attempted to physically subdue any alpha who manhandled him but he was not under a normal set up and Sherlock Holmes was not any alpha. John was yet to revise his own rules when it concerned his new flat mate.

 

John decided to give the alpha a leeway this time. He wasn’t threatened. The act was not an insult to his gender. He reminded himself that he was the unbonded omega who willfully agreed to live with a similarly unbonded alpha under the same roof. So close to the Full Moon, most of the werewolves’ behaviors were dictated and influenced by the Lunar Goddess –even someone as incredible and peculiar as Sherlock Holmes. As an alpha, his wolf was bound to be irrationally territorial, protective, possessive and selfish and by animal standard, John Watson was an extension of Sherlock’s territory. The moon called to them like a Siren would to a fisherman alone and lost at sea. John understood Sherlock’s need for haste. He imagined that the Consulting Detective may have felt himself drawn like a powerful magnet helplessly. If a wolf transformation was to take place, it was pertinent that the said werewolf be inside his own territory and somewhere safe. After all, a werewolf’s shifting is such a delicate affair.

 

As soon as they got inside the threshold of 221 B Baker Street, Sherlock placed a gloved hand against John’s spine and pushed insistently but mildly, nudging the omega to go ahead. They had not spoken at all since they left the crime scene. There was no need for words when the instincts were at their peak and the senses were overwhelmingly sensitive and heightened. John obeyed. He climbed the flight of stairs without a backwards glance at the Consulting Detective. Behind him, he could hear the alpha bolting the door and slamming a shoulder against it to ensure that it would hold against bodily assault. There was nothing unusual about it, it was typical behavior. Knowing Sherlock Holmes’ unpredictable deeds and ingenuity, John wouldn’t be surprised if the man deigned to set up a trap or two.

 

John Watson was an omega through and through. It was something one simply does not forget even for a second—even when that someone had lived the majority of his life as a human.  He was an omega down to his bones. He could smell with astounding acuity the unique and irresistible scent that the alpha was giving off. It called to him insistently. The scent was so thick it practically pervaded all of his being. He imagined that the smell clung to the walls and to the small portion of his back where the alpha touched him. Sherlock Holmes was a powerful alpha wolf. If there was a hierarchy among wolves, he would’ve no doubt achieved a position of higher standing. Everything about him was distinctly dominating. His smell alone seemed to impose on John, as if it had a mind of its own. John had to grip the hem of his own jacket to ground himself and fight against baser instincts. It would be dreadful and unhelpful to lose himself in the smell and throw his body at the alpha. It was terribly simple to imagine himself nuzzling the pale, slender neck of the other man and to drown himself with the latter’s intoxicating scent.

 

John cast a calculated glance about the living room before he decided to sit on _his_ chair. It was the one spot inside their flat except his room that smelled most devoid of the alpha’s scent. The chair was like a vacuum compared to the whole of the living room where the alpha generally pranced around most of the days. And boy how the alpha did prance. There was once a time when John had stood on the table and taken a cursory sniff at the ceiling to confirm that, yes, it carried the smell of Sherlock Holmes.  The chair was the best choice. John had occupied that particular chair most of the time since he’d flat shared with the alpha that it carried the blank, bland and traceless scent similar with that of a human’s. It was the one area that posed no form of insult to the sensitive alpha. John would not be tainting the alpha’s territory when it was already partly John’s.

 

Sherlock thundered inside the room in a flurry of movements the soonest that John was seated, both of his hands over his lap. The detective’s eyes were saucer wide and his nostrils were flared. He restlessly yet meticulously cast a glance around every nook and cranny of the room until his silver eyes landed on John. Sherlock immediately stilled and threw the omega a pair of narrowed eyes. Catching the alpha’s stare, John had the strong and insane urge to laugh. Sherlock looked constipated as if he did not know what to make of John’s presence. John passed it off as a cough and the alpha’s eyes narrowed further as if he found it a suspicious behavior.

 

“You can change in your room. I’ll stand guard from here,” he said casually as if it was the natural thing to do. John knew that the Consulting Detective would understand what was left unsaid—what he graciously offered— and that the latter would appreciate the gesture. Sherlock would have the privacy. John would remain where he sat and he would provide some additional amount of security. It was an offhanded way of saying that John was his own person even when he was an omega living in the alpha’s abode.

 

Sherlock tilted his head and considered him thoughtfully. John met his gaze unfazed. It wasn’t a thoughtless and insincere offer—not when the omega had already shot a certain cabby for the other wolf. John can protect regardless of his gender and as far as the animal kingdom was concerned, John already proved himself a comrade.

 

“Do that,” the alpha said curtly. That was all John needed to hear to know that the Consulting Detective did indeed appreciate the small gesture.

 

He watched as Sherlock walked pass him in long elegant strides, out of his periphery and presumably inside the bedroom. He allowed himself a small sigh when he heard the telltale sound of the door closing. While he would’ve dearly loved to watch the Consulting Detective’s change, he was aware that it was a too personal and too intimate matter. Yet.

 

~*~*~

 

Now that the alpha was at the privacy of his room, John was left with his own devices. He grew more wary about the physical manifestations he himself was experiencing but had initially ignored for the most part. His skin felt scorching hot. He wanted to peel the layer with his blunt nails and fold the stretch of the harvested skin like a cloth before carefully laying it aside. He imagined that it was akin to the feeling of having his epithelial cells morph into something courser, thicker and sturdier. He swallowed a lump. His throat felt sore and dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His jaws ached, his mandible felt brittle and stiff at the same time. If he wasn’t taking his own unique suppressant medication, it would’ve elongated by now with his nose to form a snout. He gritted his teeth and grinded them against each other. He had been preoccupied with dealing with the alpha’s behavior brought by the Full Moon that he’d forgotten how he himself suffered similarly. Without Sherlock to preoccupy his attention and provide a distraction, the induced changes he’d ignored earlier came rushing to him tenfold. He felt restless and he wanted to pace around but he knew that he had to stay still and be as least threatening as he could afford. Sherlock was probably already at the middle of his transformation right now. It’s never a good idea to provoke an overly sensitized wolf. And wolves are always the most sensitive and irritable at the initial phase of the transformation.

 

He wasn’t a fool. He was a doctor for Lunar’s sake. He knew that it was getting more and more difficult to resist the natural cycle of shifting during the Full Moon. It was taxing in the very least. He was probably already losing some of his years in parallel to the number of months that he had not allowed the wolf to take over his body. It was another thing to consider: the wolf’s consciousness. The wolf and he are one. Before he started taking the drugs, he had never before experienced losing his mind, losing control of his wolf shape. At present, if he were to allow the change, John is no longer certain that it would still be the case. He shuddered at the thought.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a murmured creak of a door opening. Impulse propelled him to whip his head and look at the source of the noise but he tapped it down. He needed the alpha to see that he did not break a word for anything that he said. The silence felt overwhelming. The other wolf sauntered outside the bedroom noiselessly and he would have not given John any indication of his nearing presence had not his smell told John. The doctor closed his eyes. The smell was now infinitely stronger. It drifted to him like a surge of waves so strong and so dense that it was almost palpable

 

Then the wolf entered his field of vision and suddenly, John couldn’t breathe. Something heavy squeezed at his chest that made the expansion of the lungs impossible. His eyes immediately locked with the pale, silver orbs of the beast the glided in front of him. The wolf did not simply bear resemblance to the Consulting Detective. No. Here stood Sherlock Holmes in all his naked glory and rawness. The eyes that drilled at him did not bear any difference to their human counterparts. They were sharp and calculating and even with the slits that now punctuated the animal’s eyes, John could see the man. His wolf form was massive, his pelt full of cascading raven furs that curled at the tips. His jaws were more pronounced than any other wolf John has ever seen. Their angles were a little peculiar than most but it did not in any way, shape or form disadvantaged the beast’s appearance. It suited him. John had the brief humorous thought that it was the counterpart of the man’s pronounced cheekbones. The alpha regarded him silently but his stance was relaxed. While the wolf did not look threatening, it did not mean that John allowed himself to let his guard down. Sherlock’s tail, while it wasn’t rigid and raised, was unusually still.

 

John lost count of the seconds that the both of them dueled with staring. One was a wolf that responded to the Moon’s call and the other was someone pumped with drugs that resisted the change.  Sherlock drew nearer, his front paws padding forward. John licked his lower lip in response but otherwise remained still. After a momentary pose and seemingly approving of John’s action—or _inaction_ , the alpha glided towards him; this time without pause. John Watson was no longer breathing at this point yet his brain was in no way suffering from the lost of air as if it had no right to do so without the alpha’s expressed permission.

 

 John had both of his hands on his lap, the way he had shown them to Sherlock before the tall man bolted to the threshold of his room. Sherlock was massive enough that he was at John’s chest level when the latter was sitting and the former was on his four legs. The wolf drew so close that he crossed the doctor’s personal space. Sherlock’s anterior chest pressed against John’s knees. It pressed insistently and unwaveringly and it wasn’t until the wolf let out a low growl at the back of his throat that John understood. Like a man hypnotized, the ex-army doctor parted his legs as much as he could to accommodate Sherlock’s bulk. The alpha pressed forward. John’s heart grew wild inside his chest when he felt the wolf’s warm flesh and thick fur firmly against the insides of his clothed thighs. The places where they touched, they felt burning hot. Sherlock felt so warm. The wolf had a graceful stillness about him but John could feel the minute movements brought about by the pounding of the beast’s heart inside his broad ribs. John was drowning. He was growing mad. The alpha’s scent wrapped around him like a blanket that he tasted it at the base of his tongue. He swallowed it.  All this time he had not broken contact with Sherlock’s eyes and even when John towered over him by a few inches, he had the feeling that it wasn’t entirely the case. He held no advantage over the alpha. Then the younger Holmes blinked once before he dipped his snout lower and pressed it against John’s forearm without any warning. If John seemed hypnotized earlier, then he definitely no longer has a mind of his own at the present. His mind froze. The wolf greedily rubbed his nose against the leather of John’s jacket. When the doctor’s mind finally recovered, he belatedly recognized that it was the area that Sgt. Sally Donovan had touched earlier. John did not want to think about what it could possibly mean. His mental faculties could not manage the task when he was distracted at this capacity. The wolf’s nose left a wet path at the length of the doctor’s forearm.

 

John let out a shaky breath but just when he thought that the ritual has finally ended and when he was finally about to relax, Sherlock Holmes struck like lightning. Without breaking stride, the alpha attacked. He lunged at John’s throat. It was a testament to John’s excellent control and his respective trust in the other wolf that he had resisted the impulse to strangle the beast. Sherlock was at his throat at an eye’s blink, his beastly mouth wide open, surrounding the side of the omega’s throat. John dug his nails against his palms. The wolf’s fangs did not come in contact with his skin, not at all, and John’s eyes considerably widened when he realized what his action was all about. The damn prat was testing him. He gritted his teeth in annoyance. The gall of this man! John could feel the beast’s damp breath hot on his skin and it prompted his goose bumps to flare up. It was a stretch of his endurance when he felt the alpha’s saliva drop and dribble down at the junction where his neck and shoulder met.

 

John let out a soft, warning growl at the back of his throat and wished it did not sound like a whine.

 

It was too much. This was an overwhelming torrent of stimuli at one of John’s most sensitive moments. The alpha couldn’t have possibly forgotten that John was an omega and that he suffered the same pull of the Full Moon, too? His blood was practically thick with silver at this point, all bottled up and without a way to ease the bittersweet pain—not when he couldn’t shift to his wolf form. The stretch of the alpha’s furry throat was dangerously close to his chest, almost pressing. Give it one more minute of this kind of torture and John swore his control would’ve snapped. The omega in him was tormented, high with the alpha’s pheromones.

 

“Some nerves you have,” John croaked. He inwardly cringed at how his voice sounded weak and breathless. He wanted to be more imposing. “I still have the gun. Be satisfied already.” He said, irritated. It was a hollow threat. Sherlock could’ve swiped at his throat before he had the chance to pull the gun from under his waistband.

 

Sherlock carefully drew back his mouth and closed it brusquely. He then eased away from the gap between John’s legs. The omega sorely missed the contact, feeling the inside of his thighs grow numb. A low whimper escaped John’s throat and he was subsequently annoyed with himself for feeling that way. _“Biology,”_ he reminded himself.  _Biology and the bloody Full Moon._ The wolf then tipped his head to the side, his silver eyes seemingly filled with mirth.

 

“You find all of these funny, don’t you?” John drawled disapprovingly, in his vein effort to feign indifference regarding the whole affair.

 

The damn alpha wagged his tail once in response. The tilting of the head and the swishing of the tail were friendly indication enough that John allowed himself to finally get on his feet. He groaned appreciatively as he stretched the muscles of his legs. Laying still was unheard of during the Full Moon. There was no way a _were_ could tamp down the sudden urge of energy flooding his bloodstream. Sherlock invited him to run with him. John has accepted.

 

“Go on, then. Let’s be merry on our way.” He was waiting for the alpha to turn and start their nightly prowl. John was prepared to follow. What he wasn’t prepared was for the other wolf to stand aside and clear the path for him. John blinked twice in disbelief, almost flummoxed briefly, before realization hit him.

 

John could not help the grin that stretched his lips. A low rumble of chuckle shook his chest. Oh yes. Sherlock Holmes was never boring.

 

~*~*~

 

For what seemed to be an hour, John led their trek and Sherlock dutifully followed. The doctor couldn’t help but feel mildly baffled by the alpha’s unusual display of obedience. It wasn’t exactly a run (the way they both called the planned activity earlier) the pace that John started, but he did not in any way feel dissatisfied. The night has just started after all. They’ve got plenty of hours to enjoy basking under the bright, silver orb that broke the blanket of stars. What he wasn’t fond of, however, was Sherlock’s position in relation to him. All throughout their walk, the alpha wolf opted to be at least a couple of steps behind John, a little to his right. The silence that hung over them was in no way uncomfortable or unsettling but John disliked that he couldn’t see the raven wolf.

 

Around them, in the periphery of his vision, he could see the other equally massive wolves prowling around. No one seemed inclined to approach them which were a blessing in itself. It was also not unusual. Wolves were territorial to a point, and even betas and omegas were protective of their personal space. A wolf or two would unashamedly urinate on light posts and on some entrances to dark alleys. John scowled at them. It was unsanitary and also useless. They were still in the City proper, in the main road even, which meant that wolves cannot ascertain a permanent claim on any spot. They were still in a neutral zone, if one would coin it. There lingered an unspoken truce that lone wolves stay away from the others and wolves of the same packs stick closer together. They were yet to come in contact with other weres and it was also partly because of John’s doing. If there was one thing the omega was confident about, it was his developed talent in avoiding shape shifters and humans alike.

 

The walk was pleasant and the weather was equally nice. The night air, tainted as it was with pollution and artificial smell, was cool and in no way soured the mood to have a good stroll. Even with the space between them, John could smell Sherlock’s distinct smell. The alpha’s presence was comforting and much appreciated. It helped lessen John’s paranoia being in Public. He wasn’t alone. While he had been in the City by himself more than a couple of times already after he’d assumed a false identity, they were mostly during daylight and certainly not on a Full Moon. He found himself staring at the ground and observing the shifting shadow of the wolf accompanying him.

 

When he finally got enough and found himself bored with the pace that he himself set, John slowed down with the full intention of whipping around and giving the alpha a piece of his mind. He was promised a run, after all, and Sherlock did nothing but ignore him. Before he could pivot around on the heels of his feet, however, he felt the whole length of the wolf’s warm and furry snout press speedily and firmly against the crack of his arse, the alpha’s nose dangerously close to his hole.

 

John yelped sharply and half growled, jumped away from the contact then turned around to face his alpha flat mate. The wolf had the audacity to look apologetic. Sherlock pointed his tail downwards, pulled back his ears and flattened them against his skull and closed his mouth shut. It was a sham and John knew it. He was a damn wolf, too. He wasn’t as observant as Sherlock and he certainly wasn’t a mad genius but he’d like to think that his instincts were unbeatable. Nothing was accidental in that bump.

 

“ _You slimy bastard_ ,” John admonished with a rumbling voice.

 

Sherlock gave a soft whine.

 

John narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “You don’t fool me, Sherlock,” he said more sternly.

 

Then just like that, the façade fell away. The alpha’s tail wagged once before resuming its raised pose, his furry ears pointed back to the sky and his mouth parted open, revealing a set of white, sharp teeth. Sherlock’s lips were pulled backwards and flat against his fangs, resembling a grin. John let out a deep, suffering sigh and scowled before rubbing the palm of his hand over his face.

 

“I hope you’re now satisfied that I smell human all over,” John grumbled while waving his hand in the air to indicate his person, then he reprovingly added, “And I hope you did not just experiment on me and test my patience before I grew incredibly bored out of my mind or something.”

 

Sherlock wagged his tail. It did not clear the matter up.

 

“I would remind you that you did promise me a run.”

 

John shut his mouth with a loud click of teeth when he realized how he sounded and what all of Sherlock’s behavior had been about. _Of course_. That was why Sherlock assigned him to set the bloody pace. It hadn’t been about a simple stroll under the moon. John took it literally when the alpha thought of it in another context altogether. **_The run_**. And the damn wolf did not bother to clear things up with him from the start. As if Sherlock had been waiting for it all along, he let out a short burst of howl that ended with resounding echoes of _“o”._

 

The hunting howl.

 

There most definitely will be a run only it wasn’t the sort that John imagined where he and the alpha did it side by side.

 

His eyes predatory now, Sherlock looked at John expectantly, folded his hind legs beneath him to sit on the ground and stood on his front paws. While his position did not signify an immediate attack, the wolf’s ears are almost bent forward and pointed at John. To confirm the omega’s suspicions, Sherlock tipped his head on his side and gave a sort of nod that John interpreted as a _“do go along.”_

 

John didn’t know how he knew it, but the alpha was most positively feeling gleeful.

 

Great. They were playing hunting then.

 

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” John grumbled, almost in a whisper but his heart beat erratically inside his chest. His blood was singing in response and thrill was passing down his spine in a cold, electrifying line.

 

Sherlock gave another howl.

 

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
>  Thank you so much for your patience. Your comments and kudos are all deeply appreciated. I am also very grateful for the notices about the errors in grammars and wordplays ^^. I’m so sorry for the mistakes—they are entirely my fault—and I apologize for the hiatus. A certain exam demanded my attention u___u. 
> 
> Still un-beta'd. xoxo.  
> .


	4. Bonfire Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> Your mouth is a revolver firing bullets in the sky.
> 
> .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, still unbeta’d. Thank you for your kudos, comments and suggestions. Thank you also for your patience, both with my mistakes and my delayed postings. ^^ Keelah Se’lai
> 
> Sherlock Season 3 is on the way! Hurrah! Congratulations to us Sherlockians! Breathing might be boring but just a little more and we’re there!! To Sherlock be the glory! Maker’s breath!
> 
> #SherlockLives
> 
> #r3spect

**~*~*~*~**

It was almost mechanical, the way his body responded to the alpha’s challenge. Before he could change his mind about the game he’d somehow unknowingly gotten himself into and later on consciously participated in, his legs were already moving, taking one step after another. His eyes followed the movement of his limbs and he listened to the muffled steps of his worn shoes against the pavement. He savored, almost reverently, the cool breeze brushing at his blonde hair. He felt his heart flutter inside his chest and it made him think of tiny little sparks amidst the darkness of a moonless night. The sparks were pretty in a way that they might be snuffed off if so much as a light breeze passed by but they were lovely in their own right. While they do not put any contest against the darkness, they were warm and they gave John a warm feeling inside. His steps fell in with the beats of his heart.

  

  ** _Lub-Dub, Step, Lub-Dub, Step_**.

  

It was a most peculiar feeling, he mused, and he wondered why he now thought it was interesting to watch his feet move when he’s been running for so long all his life. The tips of his fingers tingled from the chill of the night and he almost couldn’t feel anything on his legs but he was feeling strangely hot inside, almost burning. His mind was broken to several parts, all disregarding the queue and wanting to be at the forefront of his mind. He paid particular attention to the imagined sparks, then he thought about his tracks, about the alpha wolf on his trails, about the possible dangers in this night of the Full Moon, about his pursuers, about what he would do when they finally appeared, about the wolves in the general vicinity and then he thought about the scenarios he might be needed to respond with. His eyes were on his feet all the while and he couldn’t seem to get his eyes off them. At the back of his mind lay the knowledge that his main concern probably ought to be on the road ahead of him. His attention was devoted to several things all at once and in one of the pieces his mind had spliced into, the sparks turned into a small fire and lit the darkness in close proximity, cutting the blackness in half. His quick steps turned to a sprint then broke to a run and he found himself watching the world turn into a blur. He was running with everything he has that it was his heart that tried to catch up with his steps this time. John found himself running faster than ever, quicker still with every passing minute, the adrenaline in his blood washing away whatever constraint that previously bound him. His mind felt oddly blank and he felt like he lost a lot of weight. He didn’t need to think hard before an explanation came to mind. He was running for the sake of it.The exhilaration of having this privilege turned the air in his lungs into butterflies of laughter. He threw his head back and faced the starless sky as he let out an explosion of raw, humorous laugh. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember the last time he’d taken a run and enjoyed it. As his blue eyes met the moon, he couldn’t help but feel his heart swell and despite the chill of the night’s air couldn’t help but feel warm all over.

  

A familiar howl pierced the silence of the night. The familiar cadence of the voice warmed and caressed his heart and eased a relaxed grin on his lips. It was welcomed, he thought, surprised. He was glad to hear it. **_Sherlock_**. John found himself immensely enjoying the Full Moon for the first time in a long while that he did not even allow himself to be bothered about the fact that amidst the number of wolves crying out and howling, he had picked on the Consulting Detective’s voice with such profound ease. It pierced through the circus of sounds. It emerged from ocean’s depth. Sherlock’s voice alone resounded clear and full and piercing. It pulled at him, tugging him relentlessly, steadily yet gently. It was the wave that was pushing against him as it tried to propel him to the other man. It was the warm breeze that kindled the fire. His throat itched. He wanted to howl back and respond to the call. If John had initially thought that this hunting game the younger Holmes’ proposed would perhaps trigger his PTSD, the thought was now brushed aside, the idea a mere dust among the desert wind, a whisper of suggestion discarded and forgotten. Playing the hunted was too close to home, it shouldn’t in any way be enjoyable. It should be wrong that he was having too much fun. He thought strongly of Sherlock, peculiar, interesting, brilliant, regal, stubborn. ‘ _Beautiful, engaging, extremely sexy’_ , his mind supplied. His steps faltered along with his heartbeat and though no one was there to witness the widening of his eyes and the coloring of his cheeks, he couldn’t help but be embarrassed. It didn’t really worry him, though, for he had the shadows of the night to mask him from the prying eyes and the carefully hidden CCTV cameras controlled by a certain _were_ of the British government.

  

Breathing in the misty fragrance of the night, John swallowed, mentally committing to take a closer look to his recent realizations sometime in the future. He had to focus on the _hunt_. He was being hunted, after all, and wolf or not, he wasn’t going to get caught easily. Now that he could look at his past transgressions in a new light, he could even consider himself an expert playing the role. He knew how to outrun four-legged beasts. He’s been doing it for a long time.

  

He was running differently from how he did in the past. He was gliding and bounding in the air using the heels of his feet. He grinned, savoring the unconscious leaps. It’s not that he wasn’t taking Sherlock’s pursuit seriously—every bone in his body was dead intent in outrunning the alpha. He had the pride of a wolf and he wasn’t handicapped by any means. Perhaps it was that he wasn’t running to save his ass but to simply win. It was his pride that was at stake rather than his life. Pure and simple, he just deeply and truly wanted to beat Sherlock. It was a challenge without the loss of life at the end of the rope. It was the way of the wolves. He was challenged and he would reply with a howl of his own, even when the voice that answered back was of human’s and not of a wolf’s.

  

He inhaled the air this time with the intention of gauging the alpha’s distance from him. He knew Sherlock had to be close. He couldn’t pick up the wolf’s scent, not with the wind blowing towards him, but it was worth a try. The wind, on the other hand, would carry his location towards the Consulting Detective so he had better take a turn and drive away the other court’s advantage. An unprecedented growl escaped John’s throat. The omega in him was feeling particularly vicious. The sudden viciousness almost took him by surprise. Sherlock wasn’t going to capture him that easily, not without making use of all of his faculties and trying real hard. John would make sure that the alpha was worth it, that he earned his prize—whatever that was. Playful or not, omega’s just don’t give up the game.  John just doesn’t—not when he didn’t truly know how to lose. 

 

He felt the familiar burning at the back of his throat and the excuse of being unabale to transform to his wolf form didn’t seem like a justifiable one at the moment. He let out a humanly howl. It sounded raw, hoarse and utterly, well, _human_. It fell weak as compared to the other howls that echoed in the sky but is sounded right to his ears. He gave it his all.

  

He took a quick turn to his right, amidst the crowded alley then took a couple more turns, making sure to brush his shoulders with a number of human strangers who had decided to brave the night of the wolves. He had to coat his human scent with the confusing perfumes that people normally decided to wear. It was one of his tickets, playing Sherlock’s sensitized nose to a disadvantage. He was sweating now and he knew how it would make even his bland human scent smell more pronounced. This he masked by allowing himself a quick roll on dry mud and a patch of grass he came across on someone’s garden. He laughed a crazy laugh as he rose from the ground, his jumper and jeans all full of dirt, before he once again broke to a bounding sprint. He didn’t even bother with the dance of the wind at this point, deciding to follow his own beastly instincts instead. He has been doing this for a very long time now. It was safe to bet that his wolf would not play to his detriment. If anything, just as it was possible to warm the air using the sparks of a flame, it was also quite possible for the hunted to turn into a hunter. No wolf was a prey after all; they were predators by nature. Any wolf who fell prey was no wolf and John, even in his human skin, was a wolf—every iota of his being that of a beast’s.

  

He smiled a triumphant smile when the breeze brought him the Consulting Detective’s scent and with it the latter’s location. That’s what he loved in the hunts, the ever changing circumstances. No one could ever predict the wave of the wind, the dance of the clouds, the beating or one’s heart or the tides of the sea. If anything, it was only the Full Moon that would forever remain unchanged. It was always by her children’s side. 

 

Sherlock wasn’t far behind but he remained off John’s grid. The ex-army doctor found a set of exit stairs at the back of some unsavory looking architecture and this he used without qualms. This wasn’t cheating. Part of taking the game seriously was using all the advantage once could play at and John still had the use of his hands and opposable thumbs as compared with the alpha. He ran and jumped building after buildings until he found himself a roof no more and had to climb his way down using a line of rusty pipes. His hands suffered some abrasions and lacerations but it was a small price to pay. He was a bonfire, unyielding against the blow of the wind.

  

The buildings dwindled in its number and John found himself in the heart of the City no more. He was in some sort of Park or at least in some area where trees and bushes stood and scattered and littered the earth. He was so sure he has been quite exceptional and cunning with his choice of routes and were it not the Consulting detective who was giving chase, he would’ve already felt securely out of trouble. As it was, instinct told him that the alpha wolf was not easy to lose. There was a sense of foreboding niggling at the back of his mind and causing the goose bumps to blossom on his skin. Sherlock Holmes was the exception that broke all odds and the contradiction that retaliates against the mundane.

  

John stopped in his tracks and allowed himself a lungful of air, calming his already retaliating lungs. Silence filled the night and for the briefest of seconds, he imagined that he’d actually won, perhaps truly succeeded in outrunning Sherlock Holmes. He let out a breath and heard the rustle of leaves somewhere to his right. His ears perked up and reflex had him turn his body towards the source of the sound.

  

Later on, John would say that it was his lapse of judgment that allowed the alpha wolf to tackle him on his vulnerable side unsuspectingly. Sherlock’s massive bulk collided with John’s and pinned the latter on the ground. The ex-army doctor groaned from the impact but quickly reacted by using the momentum to propel his torso upwards by kicking at the ground with his leg. He rolled to his side, taking the wolf’s weight with him. John bore down with his full weight, his chest against Sherlock’s furry one but the wolf had more bulk in that particular area. The transformation had granted Sherlock more muscle mass and with the wolf form came more access to the pool of supernatural reserve of energy graced by the moon. The alpha managed to once again overturn their position, quickly gaining and securing the upper hand this time. Sherlock had both of his fore forelegs above John’s, the claws digging through his jumper into his skin. John cursed richly. They were bound to leave bruise marks and more scratches. Sherlock growled above him, his fangs inches away from John’s throat. John stilled and felt the trickle of wetness from the alpha’s saliva paint his human skin. Sherlock’s pale silver eyes weren’t friendly as they stared at John’s blue ones—they were most predatory as they can be and they glinted dangerously against the night. John met them unblinkingly. They were the most beautiful shade of silver he had ever seen in his entire life. It was the color of the moon. He acquiesced and admitted surrender with a whisper of a breath. Then the slit of Sherlock’s eyes eased. The wolf turned his face towards the Full Moon and gave a full, possessive and triumphant howl. 

 

And John Watson couldn’t find it in him to feel even a drop of regret. Sherlock Holmes won fair and square. 

 

“ _You’re amazin_ g,” John said in a rush of breath just as the alpha’s howl was coming to an end, with only the tail of echoes reverberating in the air and resounding in the night.

  

The alpha abruptly stopped before the howl properly ended, the old trees and the wind cradling the echoes of the sound. John would’ve pouted and told the other how it was inappropriate not to finish a wolf’s howl properly but the words got stuck in his throat when he found himself the center of the alpha’s focus once again. It was a paralyzing stare. They were intelligent eyes that bore hard at him and seemed to see through all of his secrets. John felt oddly bare. The wolf gave him a thoughtful look before he swiftly drove down and buried his nose at the crook of John’s neck. 

 

On his defense, John would have probably been offended had he not gotten surprised by the unexpected gesture from the other wolf and had he not been tickled by the wolf’s damp nose, ghostly breath and course fur. John felt something inside him break then and found himself giggling merrily, feeling the sound come from his stomach rather than his mouth. Not even a full month from his first encounter with Sherlock Holmes and he was already as unwounded as he can be, all the coils of stress and anxiety loosened and flattened.  Being a runaway hotly pursued seemed to be someone else’s past at the moment or a vestige of a nightmare during the waking hours. He felt lighter than he has ever felt and in the future, when he looked into it more closely, he’d realize that he felt _secured_.

  

“God, how mad and absurd you are,” he managed in between breathes and in the pauses of his giggles, “and brilliant, too,” he said a little more sobered.

  

Sherlock answered him by settling his full weight onto John’s lower torso like a boulder dropped from a height. It emptied the air from John’s lungs. The blonde doctor felt the wolf’s thick tail flog excitedly against his jean covered thigh. He let out a few more breathy chuckles before the butterflies died down and he found himself simply panting in the quiet of the night with Sherlock on top of him like a blanket of stone—solid, warm and comforting. Feeling light headed and getting aware of the creeping claws of exhaustion on his body, he simple gave in and enjoyed the luxury of being able to stop for a breath, watch the moon and run his hands through the thickness of Sherlock’s thick, raven fur.

  

When the wolf gave a lazy, contented rumble which sounded more like a purr, he felt it vibrate against his chest; when the alpha tentatively swiped his tongue and tasted his sweat, John simply hummed; and when Sherlock brushed his pointed teeth at the hollow of his throat, the omega simply felt something in him take root. 

 

Ablaze. The bonfire was ablaze, the flames licked so high into the night it seemed like a mountain.

  

Time was one of the many things John has allowed to slip by unnoticed as he lay on the earth carrying the weight of the alpha. And all the while, he thought about the bonfire whose flame licked the air like strong, unyielding waves, lighting the night where the moon’s beam cannot reach them.

 

~* ~*~

 

The trek back to the flat was subdued, relaxed, languid… It was punctuated by the comfortable silence that blanketed them. John felt strangely accepting of the alpha’s scent that clung on him from their game of hunt. He hummed, remembering how Sherlock had caught him defenselessly and tackled him on the ground, how it did not leave him with anything that would resemble bitterness and regret. It was the first time he had been caught since he had escaped from the walls of Scowall. There was just the easy knowledge that the alpha had beaten him and that he would get back at him in the future. John’s steps faltered when he caught up with his the direction of his musings. _Future_. Did he just think…? Sherlock abruptly stopped in response—one paw paused in the air, as he swerved his elegant neck and looked back at John with sharp, inquiring eyes. 

 

“Just thinking,” John shrugged, inwardly cringing at how his voice sounded almost guilty. He gave a faint nod for Sherlock to continue on their way back to 221 B Baker Street.

  

_Home. Coven. Territory._

  

After having none of them for so long, it almost felt strange to know that you have somewhere to come back to, or that someone would welcome his presence. He couldn’t deny the attachment he now felt for the alpha. He admittedly cannot claim to know everything about Sherlock but the sense of familiarity was unprecedented. It wasn’t even a full month yet since he started living with the Consulting Detective but there was one thing John can be absolutely sure about and it was that there was no one else, human or otherwise, who could claim that he or she knew how the Consulting Detective wanted his tea, how he played his violin according to his moods, how he can be cajoled to gulp down a decent meal, how he hunted, how the muscles of his chest vibrated when he howled, how his tongue felt warm and smooth, how his breath smelled when he was a wolf, how the thickness of his tail would feel against one’s thigh… Maker, he sounded like a jealous omega.

  

Something pressed on his left foot, the weight of a wolf’s paw getting his attention. John belatedly noticed that he had once again been completely preoccupied in his musings and stopped. He looked down and met Sherlock’s scrutinizing eyes, clever and demanding. What the Consulting Detective could not ask with words he apparently asked with his eyes and the minute gestures no animal was capable of. John swallowed a lump in his throat and slid his gaze away from the alpha, trying to ignore the other’s silent inquiry. Sherlock buried his sharp claws on the leather of John’s shoes. It pierced the cotton of his socks and grazed his skin.

  

John yelped. “Oh, bugger,” he cursed. “They’re the only pair I own and you know it!” He couldn’t help but admonish the other wolf. How was he to replace the ruined shoes and not to mention the jumper?

  

Sherlock remained firm and still, his thin lips pursed in a grim, unrelenting line. He tipped his head and looked at John patiently—another trait that no ordinary would manifest. There was no discernible movement from Sherlock except for the controlled inflation and deflation of his chest when he breathed and the increasing pressure on John’s left foot.

  

John rather thought that he ought to continue being annoyed with the Consulting Detective, to hammer the point about his ruined shoes for a lot longer but he caught the wolf’s stern silver eyes and knew he had no choice but to give in. There was no malice, only genuine curiosity and what would resemble worry from the alpha’s gaze. His tail was rigid but John did not smell any threat or aggression—just vigilance.

  

He gave a long suffering sigh then promptly answered, “was just wondering how nice it was that you couldn’t bombard me with questions when you’re in your wolf form,” He quipped jubilantly, a boyish grin dangling from his lips.

  

Sherlock snapped his jaws at the omega’s calf and he would have bitten had John not been quick enough to pull back and swerve.

  

“Damn, Sherlock!”

  

Sherlock did not bother with a warning growl. His front paw took a step and his jaws promptly followed. The sharp snap of teeth was loud in the silence of the night.

  

“You bloody alph—” 

 

 _Step. Snap._

“What the hell!?” 

 

_Step. Snap._

  

“Sherlock!”

  

_Step. Snap._

  

“Sher—!”

  

Then John burst into an uncontrolled laughter even as the black wolf with curling fur moved forward and continued to aim at the doctor’s legs. It was ridiculous and it was childish and John really should be angry and concerned and not laughing like a lunatic playing with another mad bastard. Granted, there was no childishness in playing with wolves. Sherlock glided like the predator that he was, head straight with his body, snout dipping down towards the target, ears pulled back against his skull, his pelt rippling under the lamppost’s light… but his tail was wagging playfully. 

 

“Fine, fine,” John said, his face brightened with humor and his lips stretched in a wide smile. Sherlock’s nose bumped carelessly on the doctor’s calf. “I surrender,” the omega said playfully lifting his hands in the air in a mocking surrender. 

 

Sherlock tilted his head, as if considering, then swiftly drove down and gently bit at John. The ex army doctor felt his jeans get soaked with the wolf’s saliva. He felt the nip of pointed teeth.

  

John looked down at the alpha, amused, and then his cheeks colored when Sherlock did not give any sign of releasing his legs. John felt something warm on his guts, as if the chill from his arms and legs disappeared and pooled instead on his stomach. Silver eyes looked up at him while the alpha wolf remained strongly latched onto John’s legs.

  

“ _Sherlock_ ,” he called in a soft whisper after he attempted to clear his throat.

  

The alpha slowly released him, pulling back and turning around in one swift maneuver. The mad bastard didn’t even look back at him.

  

Then the wolf was trotting along quietly as if nothing noteworthy had taken place. John watched the alpha quietly for a short while. The wolf’s steps were relaxed but his tail was poised unnaturally still. The omega blinked and found himself quietly following—his blue eyes trained on the alpha trotting ahead of him.

 

 

Quietly, the bonfire took over the darkness.

 

 


End file.
